About halfway through our second game, I broke a nail. Oh, how the jokes were flying about bowling being a dangerous sport and how I should be put on the DL. We even took a photo of it.
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Yes, I know it wasn't that funny, but we got bored making "crack kills" jokes about the guy bowling in the lane beside us. I think it's safe to say that he's no longer a 32-inch waist.
Utilizing a skill that she thought she learned during her last manicure, Bailey said, "I know how to fix that, Mama" and she quickly ripped off the little dangley piece all the way down. Now my nail is 1/8 narrower than it used to be. OUUUUUUUUUCH!
Just for the record: Bailey has no future working in the cosmetology industry. NONE WHATSOEVER.
My thumb started spurting blood like one of those chocolate fountains at a wedding reception. Tears formed uncontrollably in my eyes and soon my vision was blurry from the Olympic-sized pools of pain covering my retinas. One blink and I would have looked like Tammy Faye Baker. And if you're too young to know who that is, then you have absolutely no business reading this blog.
I rushed to the bathroom where I spent the next ten minutes sobbing like a 16-year-old girl who got dumped the week before prom. I finally pulled myself together when the bleeding slowed down. As I walked back to my lane after obviously crying in the bathroom, several people looked at me with judgmental eyes.
I was trying to think of a good story - you know - to protect my bowling alley cred like, "Sorry, y'all. But my baby Daddy done showed up here tonight and he's all bowlin' and boozin' like he ain't two months behind on child support. TWO MONTHS BEHIND. And, I'm outta smokes!"
But instead, I just smiled a Tammy Faye Baker smile.
My thumb was throbbing like it had its own circulatory system. And I'm no doctor, but I think there was a little arrhythmia going on.
I toughed it out and kept bowling BECAUSE I'M AN ATHLETE. That or because I wasn't about to waste the 60 bucks that it cost us to bowl. Even with my throbbing, bleeding thumb - on that last frame - I bowled my only STRIKE of the evening. Yes! I was freakin' Roethlisberger out there!
So if Bailey ever offers you a free manicure, RUN. You're much better off paying the 15 bucks at a nail salon even if they talk bad about you in a language that you don't understand.
